Robbie Gould

Robbie Gould announced his retirement recently. To all but the most ardent NFL fans, that name likely means very little. But to those who follow the sport, Gould was one of the best place-kickers ever to play the game.

His talent might have been a little hard to see at first, being that Gould went un-drafted after a distinguished career with the Penn State Nittany Lions. Even moreso after being waived—twice—after two pre-camp visits with the New England Patriots and Baltimore Ravens.

In what must rank as the most cerebral insight ever experienced by Bears management, Gould was first located working for a construction company in Pennsylvania. He was then invited to a work-out at Halas Hall and subsequently signed to a contract shortly into the 2005 season.

If it even needs to be said, the Bears don't do things like that. Over the hill linemen? Sure. Inconsequential wide receivers? Of course. Dubious quarterbacks? In a heartbeat.

Hall of Fame quality place-kickers? Nope.

That low-profile introduction may have been a godsend, as no one outside of northeastern Illinois was paying much attention. But within eighteen months Gould was kicking in a Super Bowl and being named as a first-team All-Pro.

Yeah, he was pretty good. And he stayed that way for a long time. Long enough to retire as the tenth highest scoring player in NFL history. Given the Football Hall of Fame's reluctance to admit special teams performers, it may be a while before we see him inducted.

But that's on them. Not us.

After an awkward dismissal from the Bears on the eve of the 2016 season (supposedly, then-GM Ryan Pace felt the Bears' kicker was getting old and expensive), Gould signed with the New York Giants for a season. He then moved on to the San Francisco 49ers.

And on December 3, 2017 he had what must've been one of the greatest games of his life. Against the Bears—in Chicago—Gould kicked five field goals in a 15 – 14 49ers victory. (God how I'd love to kick five field goals against a former employer!)

And the equally-expensive kickers Pace replaced Gould with? Connor Barth—followed by Cody Parkey. Anyone still wondering why Pace no longer works as an NFL GM?

With a franchise more-appreciative of his singular talents, Gould went on to kick in two more Super Bowls. What's more, he did it without a posse. He did it without complaining how disrespected he was by his salary. He did it without telling every camera in the locker room how good he was.

As a former NBA point guard once observed, if you're as good as you say you are, you don't need to remind people of it every day.

Gould merely focused on his job and devoted himself to the performance of that job to a very high order. And despite the low-key demeanor, people noticed. At a time when the Bears were trying to mask their on-field mediocrity, team execs made it a point to talk about quality individuals filling quality rosters.

But when the cameras were turned off, the Bears unceremoniously dumped two of the best examples (running back Matt Forte was the other) they could ever hope to find. Which made me doubly happy for that 49ers-Bears game in 2017.

You might consider me a Bears fan after reading this post. Truth is, I realized the absolute state of their fecklessness before puberty even hit and abandoned them for the Dallas Cowboys. Which makes my regard for Robbie Gould still-more remarkable. 

Amid what were mostly unfavorable circumstances, Gould went about his work as if every game were a Super Bowl; as if nothing less than his best would suffice. He never told anyone about it. He just did it. Teammates noticed. Word got out. While physically-diminutive by NFL standards, Gould's reputation morphed into a Julius Peppers-sized giant.

He. Got. It. Done.

I forget who said 'Revenge is a dish best served cold', but know you were never cooler than you were with San Francisco, Mr. Gould. Congratulations.

 

This and That

On April 24, 2023, the Green Bay Packers announced the trade of quarterback Aaron Rodgers to the New York Jets. Given the reaction by Bear fans, it was as if their team had just won the first springtime Super Bowl in NFL history.

Of course, considering how little they have to cheer, it could almost be tolerated—if not quite understood.

Yes, Rodgers went 25-5 against the Bears over his career, rendering his infamous “I own you!” comment a fair catch with both feet firmly in bounds. But it must be pointed out he had nothing to do with the parade of mediocrity that has emanated from Halas Hall for the last three decades.

That, my friends, is the exclusive property of the McCaskey family.

And while Bear fans merrily predict an MVP for Justin Fields and a divisional title for the team, the sober among us take care to point out that while the team has improved in many important areas, it has not in others.

Take, for example, the offensive line. Aside from first-round draft choice Darnell Wright, the line is essentially unchanged. Also unchanged is the fact that the majority of projected starters have spent the balance of training camp injured.

Foremost among those are injury-prone 2021 second-round pick Tevin Jenkins and 2023 first-rounder Wright.

I know no one chooses to be injured, but I'm wondering how the Bears continually select such delicate specimens at what might be the game's most physically-demanding position. And did I mention that in terms of O-line injuries, this is a sequel to last year's camp?

The Bears regularly pay lip service to the idea they are eager to see Fields develop into a full-fledged NFL quarterback. And yet by placing him behind one of the worst offensive lines in the league, how can this ever happen?

Fields was the most-sacked quarterback in the NFL last year. And for someone as mobile as Fields, that speaks volumes.

But in the same breath, critics point out he holds on to the ball too long. Hmmm. Playing behind an NCAA division II offensive line, with a modestly-productive tight end and a number-one wide receiver who would rank third on most NFL depth charts, is that sack total really due to the fact he holds on to the ball too long?

Or that there is no one to throw to?

The Bears appear to have addressed the WR question with the signing of D.J. Moore, who by all accounts is an NFL-quality wideout. But he better get open in a hurry, because Fields is still operating behind an O-line made of Kleenex.

Sorry Bears' fans, but I'll consider their season a success if they can just double last year's win total.

Much has been made of Aaron Rodgers' move to New York City. I'll admit the Jets have some promise, with a young, talented defense and an offense made more than functional with the addition of Rodgers, Dalvin Cook and a couple of ex-Packer receivers.

But before we anoint them World Champions, I think we need to consider a few things.

Yes, Rodgers' Packers dominated the NFC Central. But the AFC East is not the NFC Central—especially as currently configured. Put another way, the Jets are not going to run over the Buffalo Bills, Miami Dolphins and New England Patriots the way the Packers once did the Bears, Minnesota Vikings and Detroit Lions.

Point two: Rodgers has extracted more mileage from glittering regular season play than any quarterback I can think of. I mean, between Labor Day and New Year's he's one of the best ever to play the game. No doubt about that.

But despite going to the post-season in eleven of Rodgers' fifteen season as a starter, the Packers played in but a single Super Bowl. That's half the number Eli Manning enjoyed with the New York Giants. And equal to the number Nick Foles availed himself of with the Philadelphia Eagles.

It gets worse.

There's the Packers' 5-9 post-season record since that lone Super Bowl. (Which includes going 0 for 4 in conference championship games.) At the risk of being charged with arson, I will add that just six of those post-season games were played outside of Green Bay, and that the Pack won just one of them.

Iron-willed champion? Only between September and January, kids.

The prima donna-slash-attention-whore will face an ocean of distractions in New York City. At the same time, he'll be graduating—at the age of thirty-nine—from a sandbox to a shark tank in terms of division and conference play.

By December he'll be dreaming of those days in Soldier Field when he could claim “I own you!”

One of the all-time greats?

I'm thinking only with an asterisk.

Huh?

I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. In the wake of the NFL's decades-long infatuation with the quarterback-is-everything aesthetic, the running back has become the first position to be financially devalued.

Witness the struggles of Jonathan Taylor, Saquon Barkley, Josh Jacobs and Dalvin Cook to get paid relative to their production. Cook was released by the Minnesota Vikings rather than extend a contract to him. Barkley was burdened with the franchise tag before agreeing to a contract stuffed with incentives.

While under contract, Taylor has been rebuffed in his attempt to either receive an extension or be traded. Colts' owner Jim Irsay refuses to do either and appears prepared to let Taylor sit out the season.

Like Barkley, Jacobs has also been assigned the franchise tag but refuses to sign. In lieu of an extension or a trade, he also appears ready to sit out the season.

From a competition standpoint, neither the Indianapolis Colts, New York Giants, Las Vegas Raiders or Minnesota Vikings are in a position that allows them to get tough with their running backs.

Despite their gaudy record, last year's Vikings were the first team to post a dozen-plus wins and be outscored. Translated, that means they won small and lost large. With the trade of WR Adam Thielen and the release of Cook, the Vikings appear poised for a minor-key rebuild. Especially when you consider that veteran QB Kirk Cousins is in the final year of his contract.

Have the Vikings considered how the loss of Thielen, Cook and potentially Cousins will impact the career arc of their talented young WR Justin Jefferson? Probably not.

After five seasons of non-competitive football, the Giants—fueled by the emergence of QB Daniel Jones and a healthy season from Barkley—won, burnished by a wild card road victory over Minnesota.

It was entirely cringe-worthy that the front office chose this moment to put the screws to Barkley. Yes, he missed the vast majority of 2020 with a torn ACL, and his comeback a year later wasn't the stuff dreams are made of. But Barkley persevered and returned to form last year.

That took work. Sorry Joe Schoen, but Barkley deserves his cash. This was not the time to toy with a vital piece of the puzzle.

Circumstances are different for the Colts and Raiders. Since the sudden retirement of Andrew Luck just before the 2019 season, the Colts have employed a revolving cast of quarterbacks.

Only Philip Rivers jelled with the team, leading the Colts to an 11-5 record in 2020. Neither Matt Ryan, Carson Wentz nor Jacoby Brissett could sustain a pulse, and that was with Taylor. Aside from saving on payroll, I can't imagine what the rebuilding Colts feel they'd accomplish without him.

While the Raiders had stability at quarterback, their performance was routinely mediocre. Like the Colts, they apparently regard their running back's requests as inconsequential. Maybe they have a Brown/Payton/Henry hybrid they're keeping secret?

Given the Colts and Raiders middling status, why don't they unload Taylor and Jacobs? If we can assume each is worth so little, surely any return they'd receive in a trade would be welcome compensation?

On the other hand, perhaps this is exactly the kind of decision-making which has kept each franchise on the fringes of NFL. Maybe that's just how they roll.

Taking a step back to assess the bigger picture, the exponential rise in quarterback salaries plays a huge role in this scenario. When teams devote such an enormous percentage of payroll to a single player, the only conceivable result is that less will be available to everyone else.

Standing squarely in the corner they painted themselves into, GMs must assign hard values to the remaining twenty-three positions required to field a football team. Given the executive-level mania for passing, it has been decided that running backs are unproductive. And their salaries must reflect that.

They're not an investment. They're an expense.

If you say so.

I'm hoping this is the inevitable consequence of the passing-is-all fashion currently besotting the NFL.

Like it or not, moving the football is best accomplished by using the run to offset the pass and using the pass to offset the run. It keeps your opponent off-balance. It's similar to a baseball manager bringing in a series of relievers with contrasting styles that keep hitters on edge—if not outright confused.

Football games featuring teams with one-dimensional offenses are unimaginably tedious. They suck all the nuance and strategy that have evolved over the past 100 years from the game. They reduce the game to something that belongs in an eighties video game arcade. Can we call it Day-Glo football?

(I have even heard of grown men venturing into basements looking for laundry to fold rather than subject themselves to such punishment.)

I'm pretty sure that is not what the NFL had in mind when it negotiated its latest multi-billion-dollar TV contract.

But this isn't just about running backs. They're just the first position to be officially devalued . It could've been (and may still be) cornerbacks, offensive tackles, edge rushers, etc. Who will be next and accused of effectively stealing money from quarterbacks?

Have the people who determine such things considered the long-term effects on the game? It's viability? Is the future of the NFL a 50-million-dollar-a-year quarterback surrounded by a bunch of sixth-round schmucks and walk-ons?

I'm reminded of fifties-rocker Chuck Berry, who refused to employ a full-time band behind him. You know; too expensive. Too much trouble. He'd go from gig to gig solo, backed by whatever band was available—and cheap.

While it might have made a certain kind of business sense, I wasn't the only one who saw in it a profound disregard for his music—and his fans. I don't see any differently as the next generation of the NFL takes shape right before our eyes.

How ironic would it be if Chuck Berry and the NFL ended up in the same place?

Unfinished Business

So Tom Brady has pivoted and now wants to return for a twenty-third season.

Normally, I'd celebrate the accomplishments of such a late-round pick quite enthusiastically, but in his case there's a old expression that comes to mind, something about fish and houseguests beginning to smell after three days.

Tom? How are we ever to miss you if you won't go away?

 

The Turning of the Karmic Wheel

While football fans in western New York are questioning the NFL's overtime format, this citizen of Illinois is questioning the NBA's flagrant foul protocol.

To wit, when a bench-riding substitute needlessly and capriciously injures a starter critical to his team's success, a one-game suspension just doesn't cut it. Yeah, talking about Grayson Allen's petulant foul of Alex Caruso as the latter was about to dunk.

Allen's initial reaction seemed to be surprise and concern, as he paused and then leaned over as if to check on Caruso. Whatever that body language might have indicated, footage of Allen smirking as he left the court revealed another, very different truth.

Many people (especially athletes) mask public embarrassment with defiance, and Allen certainly adopted that posture.

As a marginal NBA talent, his is an existence fraught with insecurity. Already with his third team in four seasons, this late first-round pick came into the league under a cloud. And this high-profile foul isn't going to do him any favors.

Basketball is not hockey.

On the other hand, fresh-off missing a dozen games because of a foot sprain and a COVID infection, Caruso now heads back to the injured list for six to eight weeks as he rehabs a broken wrist—the direct result of Allen's thuggery.

This while Allen sits out but a single game. Hardly seems fair, does it?

As it happens, Lonzo Ball (the Bulls PG), is disabled for a similar length of time by a knee injury. Zach LaVine just returned from missing five games (and all but three and-a-half minutes of a sixth) to, yep—a knee injury.

Acting PF Javonte Green (who himself is subbing for injured PF Patrick Williams, out for the season after injuring his wrist in game number-five) finally returned to action after sitting out a dozen games with a groin strain.

So it is ironic, then, that after the oft-injured Bulls of the GarPax era (Otto Porter, Jr., Lauri Markkanen, Thaddeus Young, Wendell Carter, Jr. and Denzel Valentine), these Bulls—despite the heightened profile—find themselves battling the same demons.

Which in turn provokes memories of the failed promise of the Tom Thibodeau-era and of Derrick Rose, Luol Deng, Joakim Noah and Carlos Boozer, forever hamstrung by their star guard's knees.

Is there a goat in the Bulls past? A curse? Is this payback for the (largely) injury-free dynasty of the nineties? Is Grayson Allen both goat and curse, further derailing a team that had instantly coalesced into a high-flying contender?

Ball and Caruso are the engines that drive the Bulls resounding transition game, and their absence has been a wrench in the works. And on a roster without a lot of bigs, options are few.

Will Billy Donovan and staff concoct a workaround? Discover an adjustment that compensates for a missing backcourt? Or are the Bulls destined to struggle through what remains of January, the entirety of February and that portion of March for which Ball and Caruso are unavailable?

On the plus side, even if their absences extend for the maximum eight-weeks, both should have a dozen games with which to play themselves into shape and re-establish the groove that made the Bulls the NBA's lead story earlier this season.

On the negative side, a rookie (Ayo Dosunmu) and a third-year guy (Coby White) will have been playing starter minutes with very little precedent—or support. Will they have hit the proverbial wall by then, robbing the Bulls of valuable bench play?

As a (presumably) lower seed by that point, will the Bulls be able to recapture their early-season mojo? Will they be able to defeat higher-ranked teams without the benefit of home court advantage?

And finally, should Grayson Allen be suspended for as long as Alex Caruso is on the IR? I'm thinking 'yes'. Absolutely, positively yes. Like the Buffalo Bills fans who watched their team lose a game no one deserved to lose, there's an acute sense of betrayal.

Of life not being fair. 

I'd like to believe this is its most-painful lesson. Alas, probably not.

A Thaw in Cincinnati

Fandom. It can be such a weird thing, especially when it isn't centered on the hometown team. Using myself as example number-one, I never cottoned to the hometown Bears. In contrast to the era's Cubs, Bulls and Blackhawks, they were bad, boring and backwards.

(I should add that all these years later, those words still apply.)

Which is why I strayed. I was searching for a football team team worthy of my earnest. wide-eyed devotion. As it happened, the Dallas Cowboys and Kansas City Chiefs simultaneously caught my interest. I loved the color scheme of the Cowboys' uniforms and the talent which inhabited both rosters.

But the Chiefs I idolized in Super Bowl IV faded just as the Cowboys were entering the brightest era of their existence—the seventies. Not so surprisingly, the Cowboys gained the upper hand.

The Chiefs battled back just as the Cowboys were likewise being renewed under Jimmy Johnson, albeit without the postseason success. To quote Albert King, Marty Schottenheimer was born under a bad sign.

God rest his soul.

In the interim, another team had inserted itself into my nascent fandom. An expansion team with very little in the way of pedigree aside from the fact its owner—Paul Brown—founded the Cleveland Browns. I speak of the Cincinnati Bengals.

It's not widely remembered, but the nineteen-eighties Bengals gave the Joe Montana-era 49ers the stiffest challenges of any of their Super Bowl adversaries. Twice.

The Ken Anderson-led 1981 edition required the 49ers make two fourth-quarter field goals to maintain a tenuous and fragile lead, while the 1988 Boomer Esiason-led version demanded a last-minute pass from Montana to John Taylor to secure a 49er victory.

Think the high-profile Miami Dolphins of Dan Marino or Denver Broncos of John Elway came close to doing the same?

Nope.

So, yeah. I became a fan. Despite their small-market status they consistently won. And they drafted well. To wit, James Brooks. David Fulcher. Issac Curtis. Ken Riley. Anthony Munoz. Chris Collinsworth. Max Montoya.

But they declined after the 1988 Super Bowl. And for a long time. Relief didn't arrive until 2003 in the form of first-round draft pick QB Carson Palmer, who helped resurrect the franchise and returned them to the post-season in 2005.

Alas, only a pair of wild card appearances were the result.

Sustained success came in the person of Andy Dalton. Paired with wide receivers A.J. Green and Chad Johnson, the Bengals visited the post-season five-years in a row. Sadly, all were as wild-card entrants, culminating in an excruciating 18-16 loss to the Pittsburgh Steelers in January of 2016.

With another generation waived, traded or otherwise put out to pasture, the Bengals floundered. To the point they were awarded the number-one overall pick in an NFL draft. With that pick, they selected LSU QB Joe Burrow, who has single-handedly ignited a franchise turnaround.

To wit, the Bengals won their first post-season game in thirty-one years Saturday. They appear unfazed at finding themselves in the post-season so quickly and already possess a potent QB-WR combo in Burrow and Ja'Marr Chase.

(Whatever their success, the Bengals can at least draft and develop high-quality quarterbacks with a regularity unknown to Bears fans.) 

Along with the fresh-faced Bengals are the inspired Buffalo Bills, who destroyed their long-time nemesis from New England and looked as seamless, as perfect as any playoff team I've ever seen.

With upcoming divisional round contests like Bengals versus Titans and Bills versus Chiefs and 49ers versus Packers, I almost wish I had my cable back.

The Woulda Coulda Shoulda Hunch

Whatever your thoughts on regrets, I admit to having a few. Having them means I'm human. And admitting them probably means I'm less-fearful of appearing vulnerable than you are.

Sure, I wish I had bought Amazon stock in 1996. And seen the Jam and XTC while they were extant. But mostly, I'm bummed that I failed to act on a powerful hunch and not bet on the New York Giants to defeat the New England Patriots in Super Bowl XLII.

It was through YouTube that I was finally able to watch the game last night. (I only saw the last few minutes back in the day.)

Like any football fan in 2007, I was fascinated by those Patriots. With an already formidable offense bolstered by the addition of wide receiver-slash-savant Randy Moss, I was curious how high they could go.

As it turns out, the answer was 'very'. They stormed through the sixteen-game schedule without a loss, shredding their opponents by an average of 19.6 points a game. But if you were as observant as you were interested, you noticed that month by month the league was catching up with them.

The Pats won in September by an average of 26.3 points a game. In October by 25. In November that dropped to 17.6. And in December to 11.6.

Now, there isn't a coach in organized football who would refuse a team beating its opponents by 11.6 points per, but in light of those September and October margins being cut in half by December, something was very definitely up.

And if the rest of the league even needed it, those same Giants provided a prime time tutorial on Sunday night, December 29, 2007. Behind 28 – 16 with just minutes left in the third quarter, the Patriots were forced to engineer three unanswered scoring drives, not icing the game until just four minutes were left.

And while New England played well-enough in their two post-season games, it was obvious the epic slaughters of autumn were history. And when it became clear they would again face the Giants in the Super Bowl, wheels began to turn. No. Spin.

I wanted to bet big—a thousand dollars. That is how convinced I was. Being the less-impulsive half of a couple, my wife put the kibosh on that. I cajoled and begged and insisted, half-scaring myself with the insistence of my entreaties.

But all was for naught.

My partner's logic was impeccable. The the Great Recession had already hit in New Mexico (my former employer had laid me off and would soon lay-off another hundred). Full-time-with-benefits job listings had all but disappeared. And as she happened to work for the same company, her position was anything but secure.

As it turned out, my wife lost her job, too. This hastened our decision to leave New Mexico—just as the Great Recession hit nationwide.

What's that about timing being everything?

Given the Giants were 8:1 long-shots to win the Super Bowl (which they incidentally did in an exciting and highly-competitive game), I'll always reflect on how that handsome, tax-free pay-out could've sustained us in the bleak days that lay ahead.

But so it is with regret. It remains an unanswered question, sometimes echoing life-long like an unrequited love. While the purchase of Amazon stock would have had a far-larger impact on my life, there isn't (thankfully) a YouTube video to remind me of that squandered opportunity.

So. Now you know. And if you're wondering, I haven't had a similar, sure fire hunch since. 

Change Is the Only Constant? Seriously?

Depending on how you look at it, the Chicago Bears are either swathed in—or suffocated by—history.

Just one of a handful of NFL franchises owned by descendants of their founders, the Bears make a great story insofar as tradition and lineage are concerned. What could be better for a franchise and its legacy than to have a tangible link to perhaps the most pivotal man in NFL history?

On the surface, not much. Pretty cool, right?

Wrong.

George Halas, Sr. died on Halloween, 1983. The last great thing Bears' leadership did for the franchise was Halas' hiring of GM Jim Finks in the mid-seventies. Already credited with turning two franchises into contenders, Finks was the perfect candidate to resurrect the Bears.

And resurrect he did. While no longer with the franchise by the time the 1985 Bears laid waste to the NFL, that team had Finks' fingerprints all over it. But the ascent and the championship obscured an emerging problem within the organization: in the aftermath of Halas' death, who would lead them?

Heirs by marriage, various members of the McCaskey family assumed control. They were now responsible for hiring the people best-suited to sustain the Bears' recent success.

But as teams do, the Bears grew old. Got injured. And got traded. With the conveyor belt Finks built no longer in service, the supply of savvy draft picks and prescient free-agent signings which earmarked his stay in Chicago disappeared.

And suddenly the Bears weren't so good anymore.

Looking at the ensuing decades, the Bears have mostly been mediocre (if not downright awful). While fans and the media debate incessantly this GM or that coach or trades and free-agent signings, there is but a single common denominator that stretches across three decades of futility: the McCaskeys.

They don't know what they're doing.

They're in charge of hiring the people who evaluate, develop and assemble talent. And for thirty long years they have failed. Their hand-picked executives have produced a long string of ineffectual quarterbacks. Forgettable receivers and tight ends. Anonymous offensive linemen. All of it leading to a moribund tradition of hapless and inept offenses.

Their coaches are over-matched and out-witted.

Yes, the Bears can still uncover defensive talent like the New York Mets once did pitching. But in a game constantly being tweaked and massaged to favor offense, this is only a minor advantage. 

There are aberrations. Like 2001 and 2006 and, most-recently, 2018. But these vanish as quickly as they appear, returning Bears football to its natural state of being.

Which isn't to infer the McCaskeys are clueless. On the contrary, they have developed the Bears assets to the point where the Bears are the eighth most-valuable franchise in the NFL, worth 2.45 billion-dollars. Which I think we all can agree is a pretty heady return on Papa Bear's original investment.

And with a billion-dollar monument to their legacy soon to be erected in the suburb of Arlington Heights, that valuation will increase still further. But the red wine stain on this pristine linen tablecloth of good fortune remains the McCaskeys.

If it even needs to be said, football is measured in championships, not valuations.

Oh, the McCaskeys and Ted Phillips still deign to descend from their ivory towers and mingle with the great unwashed once a year, polishing their brand as they advise exasperated fans and a befuddled media they understand what's going on and are going to act on it immediately.

All that's missing are results.

But with a string of sold-out games stretching back to 1984, you have to wonder why the Bears would bother. Like the fans of the baseball team that plays on the north side of town, Bears fans will bitch up a storm on Monday morning talk radio and then dash off checks for season tickets with eager and unquestioning obedience.

And with more seats to sell in their new stadium, money will roll in in even greater quantities.

3 - 13? 12 - 4? It matters not, people. Bears' fans have demonstrated they will buy whatever the McCaskeys are selling. And until the tickets and the merch remain unsold and the games unwatched, rest assured Matt Nagy and Ryan Pace's successors will be more of the same.

Again: the McCaskeys are the sole common denominator across thirty-years of crappy football and questionable football decisions. What does that say to you?

A long time ago, an Englishman sang “Meet the new boss/Same as the old boss.” Is it possible he was a Bears' fan?

Resisting Quantification

I will admit that more NFL Hall-of-Famers were drafted in the first-round than any other. And that this probably applies to MLB, the NBA and the NHL as well.

But judging by the rampant hysteria surrounding the value of first-round picks, nothing so much as a reliable starter was ever drafted afterwards. The all-or-nothing premium placed on them borders on mental illness.

Anyone out there remember JaMarcus Russell? Brian Bosworth? Tony Mandarich? All had a yellow-brick road paved to Canton, OH. They merely had to show up.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the Hall of Fame. None of them made it. Career-wise, none of them even made it out of the driveway.

So. Fasten your seat belts: first-round picks are a crap shoot. Yep. With odds only marginally better than the rounds that follow. Humans continue to resist the most detailed and intrusive examination. We flower when no one thought us capable. And granted, we sometimes fail when—again—no one thought us capable.

We are difficult. Unquantifiable.

In a sport ruled by “experts”, I relish the fact that so many of the best quarterbacks I ever saw were drafted well outside of the first-round: Johnny Unitas, Bart Starr, Roger Staubach, Joe Montana, Brett Favre and (drumroll, please) Tom Brady.

If the “can't miss” tag overlooked so many of the all-time greats at the sport's most-scrutinized position, what does that say about our scrutiny? Our evaluation?

Not a whole lot, I'm afraid. Is anyone asking “What are we missing?”

Given the time, I'm confident I could assemble an All-NFL squad of third rounders every bit as potent as one crafted from first rounders. As I could in every other sport.

And yet our belief in this delusion persists and carries with it powerful consequences. For instance, the salaries enjoyed by first-round picks versus those picked in subsequent rounds.

For an NFL prospect, simply falling out of the first-round and into the second translates into a financial hit of 20%.

Without doing a survey on the relative success of first-round picks versus second-round picks, this is a startling difference. Is there really that much difference between number thirty-two and number thirty-three?

Alas, we are a society heavily invested in name brands and image and reputation. “How can you miss with a __________________ from Alabama versus a __________________ from Black Hills State University? You can't!”

Right?

It goes without saying I was delighted by the 2016 Major League Baseball Hall of Fame class, which featured Ken Griffey, Jr. and Mike Piazza. One was a can't-miss prospect lauded from the day he spouted pubic hair. The other was an afterthought.

Without enlisting the services of Google, can you tell me which was which?

Didn't think so.

If we are going to be utterly and completely honest, we need to admit the only thing drafts accurately predict are the sizes of signing bonuses and rookie contracts. Everything else is, like I said, a crap shoot.

 

A Little Bit of Light

It is ugly. It is a billion-dollar behemoth that rolls, unimpeded, over everything. A cash spigot that seemingly will not be turned off. It fills cup after cup of generational wealth for all who can crowd close enough.

Those lucky souls consume multi-million-dollar homes and Lamborghini SUVs like you and I do water and bagels. In this exalted income bracket, vast, unimaginable amounts of money become de rigueur, their new normal.

Money can buy anything. And everything.

With the exception of happiness.

We have only to consider the parade of misshapen personalities that have emerged in the first half of this NFL season: Jon Gruden, Henry Ruggs III, Aaron Rodgers, Odell Beckham, Jr. and now, Dalvin Cook. Despite the ocean of riches offered them and the bounty of benefits that accompanies being rich and famous, it's just not enough.

Beauty, it is said, is skin-deep. But ugly goes all the way to the bone.

The riches aren't enough to wash away their hatred or their arrogance. Ditto their selfishness. The immersion course in entitlement and impunity works so very, very well.

But there is a break in the display of racism, sexism, battery and the flaunting of privilege. There are people who, despite the mountains of cash and (in this case at least) less-than-ideal professional circumstances, manage to act like grown-ups.

I speak of former Detroit Lions quarterback Matthew Stafford.

I don't know him. I don't even live in Detroit. But even without close-in access to either the team or Detroit's media, will hazard the opinion that Stafford is an okay guy. He persevered for a dozen years with mostly not-so-great Lion teams, rarely throwing an undue number of interceptions much less petulant, trade-me-now tantrums.

In a sea of ineptness and futility, Stafford was a island of ability. A player who produced at a high level regardless of whomever he was surrounded with.

So I was happy when I learned he'd been traded to the Los Angeles Rams. If anyone deserved a shot with a contender, it was (and is) Stafford. And even with my moderate interest in professional football, can see he is making the most of it.

As of this writing, Stafford stands as the highest-rated quarterback in the NFL. Not Patrick Mahomes. Not Tom Brady. Not (eyeroll) Aaron Rodgers. Nope. It's the dude from Detroit. Playing with actual NFL-quality personnel, Stafford has the Rams in the thick of the highly-competitive race for the NFC bye.

I'm no Rams fan, but am thrilled that Stafford has at last been given a platform from which to shine. With a multitude of character-free personalities being handed a disproportionate amount of life's riches, it is a relief to see a fully-developed, mature human being get some.

Rock it, Matthew.

Happy?

I call them Justinites. Have since spring. They're the folk who have alternately clamored, begged, whined and demanded that Justin Fields start as quarterback for the Chicago Bears since the day he was drafted.

They are the folk who ran roughshod over the considered acquisition of respected veteran quarterback Andy Dalton, treating him like sewage in the process.

What they lack in things like perspective and understanding they make up for in volume and persistence. Without a shred of evidence to back their perspective, they relentlessly push their witless agenda.

They remind me of the folk who back a certain ex-president: noisy and stupid.

This shouldn't be construed as a rip in any way, shape or form of Justin Fields. Hell, I feel sorry for the guy. He's a young man forced to shoulder the unconsidered expectations of a delusional and desperate fanbase thirsting for a messiah.

And Fields is their mirage. A mirage of NFL contention and Super Bowl trophies.

Amidst their delusions, the Justinites ignore the realities of the unproven coach. The pathetic offensive line. And this weird sense of voodoo that hovers over the team and prevents them from ever enjoying a functional offense.

Building a football team is tough. I get it. Whereas other major sports field teams ranging from five to nine players, football has eleven—just on offense. There's another eleven on defense. Plus kickers. And holders. And punt returners and kick-off returners and special teams and....

That's a lot of personnel to assemble. And manage. Contracts to juggle. And beyond that, one has to make sure they're fairly compatible, healthy and, of course, talented. What's more, ideally the offense and the defense are being constructed simultaneously.

Whew. Can I take a break now?

Via Dalton's banged-up knee, the Justinites got their wish yesterday. Their savior would start an NFL game. Can we just skip the rest of the season and anoint the Bears as Super Bowl champions please?

There were just a few problems. The offensive line still sucked. (You saw Myles Garrett and Jadeveon Clowney objectify the Bears' line and turn them into turnstiles, right?)

And Matt Nagy was still calling plays. Hired as an offensive whiz kid, he continually bungled the play-calling and failed to make any useful adjustments, piloting this creaking, wheezing car into a swamp of ineptness.

Overlooked in the carnage is that young Fields, effectively playing behind a sheet of Kleenex, wasn't injured in any of the nine sacks he endured.

(It's a minor miracle, really.)

He may one day be a fine NFL quarterback. Fine as in Ryan Tannehill or fine as in Patrick Mahomes. No one knows for sure.

What is known is that the Bears aren't getting any better. Yeah, they've had some bad luck. But gifted with a fourth season as coach, it's becoming increasingly clear Nagy is merely the Bears' latest example of the Peter Principle.

And you Justinites? A quarterback does not a team make. 

 

Arrrgghh!

With a triple-layer cake of anxiety foisted upon us by a panicked political party interested only in its survival, a lingering pandemic and the onset of undeniable climate change, I, like the Chicago sports fans around me, am somehow able to locate still more sources of angst.

Yes, the long-expected sell-off of the Cub's Anthony Rizzo, Kris Bryant and Javier Baez came to pass and was as emotionally-grueling as expected. It slammed the door on any holdover hope that something, anything might still happen.

But to be absolutely and perhaps even cruelly honest, this squad had only regressed since their 2016 championship. The succeeding years have seen some of the weirdest baseball in franchise history. One year they couldn't hit. In another they couldn't win on the road. There were multiple late-season fades.

Two desultory wild-card appearances served to twist the knife of their newfound futility.

Granted, owner Tom Ricketts wasn't exactly pro-active when it came to tweaking the roster and adding the bits and pieces necessary to sustain success. But in the end, I'm reminded of the time Branch Rickey infamously told Pittsburgh Pirates slugger Ralph Kiner when the latter approached Rickey for a raise: “Mr. Kiner, we can finish last without you.”

Whatever the reason, these Cubs weren't getting better. And as awful as it was to see the core of the team that finally—finally!—won a World Series ripped away, it was time.

With the ascent of the crosstown White Sox, Cub fans can further salt their wounds by endlessly rehashing the Jose Quintana for Dylan Cease and Eloy Jimenez trade.

At the time, Quintana was a pretty fair pitcher for some mostly undistinguished south side clubs, regularly posting mid-three ERAs and several WARS of five. Cease and Jimenez were prospects. Guys with who-knows-for-sure potential. Question marks.

Fast forward four years.

Quintana was mostly inconsistent with the Cubs and never came close to replicating the years he enjoyed with the White Sox.

Now in his third season, Cease is having a decent year. But it's nowhere near those Quintana had. Jimenez, also in his third year, has enjoyed some early success but has proven to be injury-prone. He also struggles in left field and is resistant to the idea of being a DH.

Cub fans? This ain't Lou Brock and Ernie Broglio. Relax.

Turning the tables, Sox fans can gnash their teeth about the continued rash of injuries, the oft-debated managing prowess of Tony LaRussa and the reasons they struggle to beat teams above .500.

From an outsider's point of view, LaRussa's managerial ability is a no-brainer. With that ever-longer list of position players being felled by injury, the fact he's been able to consistently plug-in worthy replacements and keep the Sox afloat speaks volumes.

Those injuries could be a massive distraction and the perfect excuse for not being in first-place, but that hasn't happened. Case closed.

Young teams need to learn how to win. And the Sox, with the exception of Jose Abreu and a couple of their starting pitchers, are a young team. I'm reminded of the 1988/89 Chicago Bulls, who went 0 – 5 versus the emerging Cleveland Cavaliers that season.

Naturally, their first-round playoff opponent was noneother than Cleveland. And you know what happened? The storied ascent of the Jordan-era dynasty began with that series when MJ hit a last-second jumper in game five to clinch it.

And speaking of the Bulls, it's nice to see some action after so much inaction. Especially after waiting and waiting and waiting for a core of Zach LaVine, Lauri Markkanen, Coby White and Wendell Carter, Jr. to gel, overseen by a couple of hapless coaches.

New GM Marc Eversley has been aggressive in moving on from the talent GarPax assembled, most notably landing center Nikola Vucevic from Orlando in exchange for the injury-prone and under-performing Carter and guard Lonzo Ball in a sign and trade.

That acquisition cost Tomas Satoransky, a hard-nosed guard who provided the team's most consistent play at the point. It was tough to see him go. But to get something...

A little more angst-y is the sign and trade for DeMar DeRozan. No questions about the player or his abilities. He's the real deal. He can play. My concerns revolve around his compatibility with LaVine and Vucevic, and at 32 years-old, is an $85million-dollar, four-year deal really a good idea?

And is it wise to give away still more first-round picks? I'm thinking not. I mean, are we witnessing the reincarnation of George Allen here or what? I'm grateful the previous regime is gone, but too much of anything is generally a bad thing.

I'm hoping very, very hard that Eversley and vice-president of basketball operations Arturas Karnisovas are looking before they're leaping.

Finally, what discussion of sports-related anxiety would be complete without a mention of the Chicago Bears?

The team continues to struggle against the expectations it created in 2018. Hamstrung by an NCAA Division 3 offense, it was obvious to everyone the Bears needed a bona-fide NFL quarterback. Some NFL-worthy wide receivers and offensive linemen wouldn't hurt, either.

Well, the Bears got a quarterback. Two, in fact. But the other holes remain unfilled.

Over the past ten drafts, the Bears have used nearly a fifth (5 of 24) of their first, second and third round picks on offensive linemen. 2013 first-rounder Kyle Long was a stud, but recurring injuries decimated his career after just three and-a-half seasons.

2016 second-rounder Cody Whitehair is a keeper, even having been named to a Pro Bowl.

After that, the waters muddy. They did spend second-round picks on Teven Jenkins in April and James Daniels in 2018, but Daniels went down for the season five games into 2020 and is currently unable to practice because of a quad injury. Jenkins has yet to attend a practice because of a back condition.

2015 third-round pick Hroniss Grasu (I don't know how to say it, either) is a reserve for the 49ers.

The rest of the line is a motley collection of free-agents, walk-ons and stragglers.

And of that estimable crew, nearly a dozen have suffered injuries or are in COVID protocols, leaving the Bears barely able to field a line for practice. And with actual NFL-quality quarterbacks to protect, it doesn't take a great deal of imagination to envision the already creaky o-line giving way to a critical QB injury.

At the very least this cripples a camp that was to have been dedicated to revitalizing the Bears' tepid offense.

Maybe some things just aren't meant to be.

America's Hottest New Party Game: Pin the Quarterback on the Bear

Depending on your definition, professional sports may exist solely to entertain you. Wins? Losses? A three-dimensional, living testament to persistence and an inspirational example of dedication and desire?

Not so much. Provided you're able to momentarily forget about the treadmill to oblivion that is your job, call it mission accomplished. And on that front, the Chicago Bears are wildly successful.

The spectacular mismanagement that has put the Bears in their current position is technically unimportant. What matters is that it's entertaining!

Just listen as Bears fans clutch hope to their breast while a succession of sugar plum fairies dances across their collective imagination: Deshaun Watson. Matthew Stafford. Carson Wentz. And most recently, Russell Wilson.

None of them had (or has) a snowball's chance in Phoenix of ever appearing in a Bears uniform, but that has never stood (or stands) in the way of a good fantasy (aided and abetted by the local media).

But the ugly reality is that the Bears are crippled. They have no cap space. No storehouse of superfluous first-round picks. GM Ryan Pace and head coach Matt Nagy might be the only ones to realize it, but the stay of execution issued by chairman George McCaskey last winter isn't as gracious as it appears.

They have a single offseason to find a ready, willing and able quarterback, revamp an offensive line that—on its very best day—is mediocre and import some wide receivers worthy of the name, all while soothing the ruffled feathers of their presumptive franchise-tag nominee, Allen Robinson.

It's a tall order. Especially for two guys whose success could best be called sporadic.

But Stafford is a Los Angeles Ram. Wentz is an Indianapolis Colt. The Houston Texans have shown no sign of granting the frustrated Watson his wish and if it even needs to be said, Wilson is a very long way from being an ex-Seattle Seahawk.

Only the fans and media tied to the local franchise would be desperate-enough to even entertain the idea.

And if you're Andy Dalton, Ryan Fitzpatrick, Sam Darnold, Cam Newton, Jameis Winston or Marcus Mariota, why would you want to play for the Bears, anyway?

The print media has generated acres of coverage. The electronic media has consumed enough electricity to power a small nation for months. And it should be noted that out of that coverage have come two very salient observations.

One: given their decades-long inability to draft and develop a franchise quarterback, do the Bears have any idea how to properly assess candidates at the position?

And two: is a front office who equates collaboration with an end-of-the-rainbow destination instead of a required component in a functioning executive suite even qualified to lead a professional sports franchise? Much less a mom and pop grocery?

Not from here.

Ahh, but I'm just rabble. A bit player in the nameless and faceless throng. A cell in the teeming great unwashed. Or, to paraphrase Teddy Roosevelt, the fan in the arena. 

Fair-weather follower that I am, I can cackle with delight at a franchise who more often than not is its own worst enemy.

Frustrating? Yeah. Entertaining? As fuck.

Next?

A Peek at the NFL Post-Season

This is a satisfying end to the NFL season. Best of all, there isn't a team from Los Angeles in serious contention for a title. I mean, watching the Lakers and the Dodgers clinch within sixteen days of each other was a bit much.

Yeah, the Rams are in the playoffs. But despite a fine defense, no one expects them to do much—if any—damage.

Far more heartening are the returns of the Cleveland Browns and the Buffalo Bills to the post-season.

As a Cub fan, I can relate mightily with Clevelanders and their sports-based suffering. And both editions of the Browns have contributed more than their fair share to that suffering.

Who can forget the 1987 and 1988 AFC Championship games? Or the heroic 1981 effort in the Divisional round against the then-Oakland Raiders, played in four-degree temperatures with wind chills of twenty-below?

Or the ignomy of Red Right 88?

Do I dare remind all concerned the Browns lost these three games by a total of ten points? Perhaps not.

The Browns declined not long after those consecutive championship games and a very messy relocation to Baltimore followed after the 1995 season.

The expansion Browns have suffered (there's that word again) a difficult childhood. With just two random winning seasons in their first twenty-one, weary Clevelanders have again had their faith tested.

And just as the forlorn franchise has finally bundled a functional front office, strong coaching and the on-field talent to win, they get smacked by COVID-19. It's not hard to imagine the city's sports fans beseeching an uncaring God, arms extended and palms turned up in supplication, with “What did we ever do?”

It takes a heartless soul, indeed, to root against them.

Which brings me to the Buffalo Bills.

I never had any feelings for them one way or another until they made it to four consecutive Super Bowls in the early-nineties—and lost all four.

I was old-enough to appreciate the special kind of grit it took to return to the stage where they'd repeatedly lost. And when I learned via an ESPN documentary the city had turned out and cheered kicker Scott Norwood (he of the 'wide right' infamy), I recognized Buffalo and its fans as people with very big hearts.

Like their soulmates in Cleveland, Bills fans have suffered ever since. Rebuilds have come and gone with the only common denominator being they failed to bear fruit. (The Bills haven't won a playoff game in a quarter-century.)

But a winning combination of front office executives, coaches and players has finally been assembled, and the Bills are surging and represent a serious threat to virtually every other team in the AFC.

In fact, given the just-good-enough play of the defending-champion Kansas City Chiefs over the second half of the season, I would only be mildly surprised to see them defeated by Buffalo at some point.

The good news for fans of my hometown Chicago Bears is that tomorrow afternoon's game versus the New Orleans Saints will be the final game of the season.

This awkward assemblage of talent sputtered and lurched through another season, routinely failing to realize expectations heightened by their performance in 2018. It should be clear to all concerned by now that season was an aberration, not a trend.

In its wake, warmed-over kudos to GM Ryan Pace and head coach Matt Nagy.

Pace for mostly having done a pretty solid job on draft day. The primary exception being the selection of Mitchell Trubisky with the second-pick in the 2017 draft—after surrendering draft picks to move up a spot and paying a king's ransom to sign a career back-up QB.

In a league dominated by quarterback play, Pace whiffed spectacularly on the biggest pick of his career. Kindly ignore that two young quarterbacks by the name of Patrick Mahomes and Deshaun Watson were also on the board.

Historically, it's a given that the Bears screw-up at quarterback. It's practically congenital. But choosing Trubisky over Mahomes and Watson was a fatal error. One magnified both by a promising defense and the thin talent surrounding him on 'O'.

Nagy was hired from the Chiefs as an offense-oriented whiz-kid. One able to create dynamic squads capable of lighting up the scoreboard in an era where offense clearly dominates.

Granted, he hasn't been given much to work with. But I am struck by the fact the Bears' offense was on life-support until Nagy handed play-calling duties off to offensive coordinator Bill Lazor.

While that brief resurgence was against the 98-pound weaklings of the NFL, it was something.

You have to ask yourself: if Nagy failed at what was reputedly his strength, what about the areas that weren't?

To his credit, he kept the team focused and upbeat. But that only goes so far. And with the Bears obvious strength (defense) seemingly in a premature decline, this is a franchise with many, many questions to answer.

I distinctly remember as the twentieth anniversary of the Bears' 1963 championship was approaching, the intensity of the widespread irritation at how the Bears had failed to mount even a single credible threat in the ensuing years.

With the twentieth anniversary of their 1985 championship now fifteen-years old, you have to wonder what the future holds.

It may only be a matter of time before empty seats at Soldier Field aren't the byproduct of a pandemic.

 

Relief Sought. Relief Found.

Trying to avoid the torrent of anxiety that is 2020, I turned to sport—be it in their distended (basketball and hockey) or truncated (baseball) forms.

Given that the local franchises (at least depending on your MLB franchise-orientation) have been as effective at reducing anxiety as caffeine, sports has mostly been ineffective.

The Blackhawks briefly derailed the overriding reality that the Cup window is closed by winning the qualifying round against the rejuvenated Edmonton Oilers. But the subsequent loss to Las Vegas Golden Knights reminded us that, yeah, the window is definitely closed.

Letting goaltender Corey Crawford go is the proof.

The Bulls continued to mismatch coaches with their talented, young roster, ending the shortened season with a dismal 22 and 43 record. But the recent dismissals of President John Paxson, General Manager Gar Forman and hapless coach Jim Boylen have given fans hope.

With the signing of new coach Billy Donovan and another lottery pick in the upcoming draft, there is finally more light than darkness.

The Cubs? Long story short—the less said the better.

Having recovered their lovable loser status, their mystifying ineptness regarding how to best employ a baseball bat in an actual baseball game didn't prohibit them from claiming another divisional title and with it, home field advantage.

But as they so expertly do, the Cubs turned advantage into disadvantage since they actually hit worse at home (.213) than they did on the road (.226). No matter. Two consecutive losses to the mighty Florida Marlins in the opening round of the playoffs put Cub fans out of their misery with due dispatch.

And the one-time Super Bowl-hopeful Chicago Bears?

The team has removed a negative (QB Mitch Trubisky) but done virtually nothing to shore-up a weak offensive line. TE Jimmy Graham has at least given the Bears production at the position; something they didn't enjoy last year.

But with an NFL-strength schedule the rest of the way and no running game to speak of, the 4 – 1 Bears will be hard-pressed to sustain their early success—accomplished against pro football's doormats.

On a national scale, things were brighter.

Even after losing Kawhi Leonard and Danny Green to southern California in free-agency, the indefatigable Toronto Raptors clawed their way to the second-seed in the Eastern Conference playoffs by virtue of their 53 and 19 record.

It took a five-point loss to the Boston Celtics in game-seven of the Eastern Conference semis to stop them. But what a ride!

And what a team.

Basketball continued to entertain via the Denver Nuggets.

A popular pick to make the Finals, the Nuggets evinced a disquieting ability to fall-out of games early before mounting second-half comebacks. It was enough to carry them through two seven-game series versus the Utah Jazz and Los Angeles Clippers and into the Western Conference Finals.

But it took the steadier and more-experienced Los Angeles Lakers just five games to defeat them, meaning the Nuggets still have miles to go before they pour champagne on each other.

But it was a ball watching them.

Which brings me to baseball.

As with the NHL and NBA, credit must be given to MLB for managing a very complicated dynamic with stellar results. It wasn't perfect, but excepting the circumstances that allowed Donald J. Trump to appoint three Supreme Court justices within a single term, what in 2020 was?

But here we are on the eve of another World Series.

My fandom of baseball is more deeply-rooted than any of the remaining “Big Three” sports. That being the case, there are deeply-rooted likes and dislikes. For example, I love the Cubs. I hate the New York Yankees.

Translated, it was a delight watching the Tampa Bay Rays bounce the Yankees out of the American League Divisional series. It occurred to me during that series the Rays might be the best franchise in baseball.

How many other teams have reliably remained so competitive? Has a farm system that has so reliably produced big-league talent? Made innovation routine? And even more remarkably, has accomplished this in a small market with skeletal fan support?

And with a moldy, dank cavern of a stadium that is the antithesis of 'revenue stream'?

By eliminating the Yankees and on the cusp of advancing to the World Series, the Rays have upended exactly half of MLB's dream. That the darlings of major league baseball—the mass-market Yankees and the mass-market Los Angeles Dodgers—assume their rightful places in baseball's annual showcase for a TV ratings extravaganza.

But that's how the Rays seem to do things.

If the medium is the message, is this when we'll start watching?

I'm Going to Kansas City

If it hadn't been for the Dallas Cowboys, I'd be a Chiefs fan.

The hometown Bears were as boring as shit, and run by an out of touch NFL legend who would only draft players he thought he could sign on the cheap. Not surprisingly, the Bears sucked.

They sucked like a vacuum.

Like today, they had a decent defense. But scoring points was a problem. It was like asking someone with chronic constipation to squeeze out a good-sized stool every day. Painful. You don't know who Jack Concannon or Bobby Douglass or Bob Avelleni are for a very good reason.

By contrast, the Dallas Cowboys and Kansas City Chiefs had two of the most remarkable teams around. They could score like Joe Namath at a bridal shower and pound you senseless on defense. I often wondered why the Bears couldn't do that.

Oh that's right—they were saving money. Check.

For reasons still not entirely understood, I tilted towards the Cowboys. But the Chiefs remained my favorite AFL team. They were the yin to the evil Oakland Raiders' yang, and I delighted in seeing the Chiefs beat the Raiders. Especially in Oakland, where it was still sunny long after the Midwest had gone dark.

Len Dawson, Bobby Bell, Curly Culp, Johnny Robinson, Jim Lynch, Buck Buchanan, Willie Lanier, Jerrel Wilson, Jan Stenerud and especially Otis Taylor were my heroes. I was over the moon when they beat the Raiders (in Oakland) in the last AFL championship game and moved on to defeat the Minnesota Vikings in Super Bowl IV.

Inevitably, those Chiefs grew old and the franchise was forced to rebuild.

The nineties brought sustained success under the tutelage of Marty Schottenheimer, and saw the Chiefs return to the playoffs in seven of the decade's ten seasons. Sadly, the Chiefs were coached by the man who, had the Chicago Cubs been a football team, would have been their coach.

That's how cursed he (and they) were.

No matter how good and how dominant those nineties teams were, post-season success eluded them. The coach who ranks eighth all-time in victories and who compiled an impressive .613 winning percentage with four different franchises couldn't get his Kansas City charges to the conference championship game.

In eighteen playoff games, Schottenheimer's teams went 5 – 13. Among coaches who oversaw ten or more post-season games, only Steve Owens falls below Schottenheimer's .278 winning percentage.

It takes a Cub fan to understand.

But that was then. And this is now.

The Chiefs' incredibly loyal fan base has been rewarded with an all-world quarterback and a stout defense capable of shutting down anyone. If not another distinguished head coach who lacks the post-season success he deserves.

I am so very, very happy for them.

Go beat the crap out of the 49ers.

Thank U, Next

In February of 2002, I was happy for the New England Patriots. After three tough losses in title games, watching Adam Vinatieri's field goal sail through the uprights as time expired in Super Bowl XXXVI felt like a welcome blast of karma.

Who didn't love the story of a long-suffering team helmed by a sixth-round quarterback finally getting to the top of the mountain?

Ditto two years later, when Vinatieri capped a fourth quarter shoot-out with another last-second field goal, giving the Pats their second championship.

But then they became a dynasty. And their quarterback married one of the world's most-beautiful women. And their grizzled coach began to believe his press clippings. The whole thing took on an air of entitled arrogance.

Then there were the 'gates'. Spygate. Deflategate. Antonio Brown-gate. And filming the opposition's sideline action from the press box. It was distinctly unsavory. And despite winning their division in 2018, the Pats somehow landed a first-half schedule loaded with softies this season.

And when they raced off to an 8 – 0 start and outscored their opponents by a margin of 250 to 61, the media tripped all over themselves anointing their defense “historically great”.

Ugh-huh.

The truth revealed itself in the second half of the season, when the Pats took on NFL-level competition. They stumbled to the finish line with a 4 – 4 record, outscoring the likes of the Baltimore Ravens, Kansas City Chiefs, Houston Texans, Dallas Cowboys, rejuvenated Philadelphia Eagles and emergent Buffalo Bills by a scant six points.

Yeah.

Beating up on cellar-dwellers and struggling against contenders is the first sign of a young team beginning to feel its oats, or a former powerhouse in decline. The New England Patriots belong decidedly to the latter.

Last night's loss to the surging Tennessee Titans was only additional proof.

After years of going without high draft picks and riding the once-ageless arm of Tom Brady, it appears the dynasty has begun a long, slow descent.

Gravity doesn't take personal days. Not that I'm complaining.

Building Up the Bears?

It was Alexander Pope who said “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.”

I would add the coverage of the Chicago Bears in the Chicago Tribune's sports section.

However fine a newspaper it may be, the happy talk following two narrow victories over cellar-dwelling opponents (one in the midst of an eight-game losing streak and the other starting a third-string quarterback making his NFL debut) smacks of public relations-speak and not clear-eyed, objective journalism.

Judging by the content, you would have thought the Bears had shut-out the Baltimore Ravens and San Francisco 49ers—on the road. The reality is the Bears squeaked by the New York Giants and Detroit Lions by a cumulative margin of nine points.

Yes, the Bears completed several forward passes, which was certainly novel. And some even gained double-digit yardage, another novelty. What's more, a number of possessions lasted more than three downs, which qualifies as a veritable epiphany.

But contrary to the Tribune's coverage, in the end it was the same old Bears; struggling against what were (on paper) inferior opponents.

And to think all fans were worried about in September was finding a reliable field goal kicker.

The 2019 Bears have many problems. Beyond playing a first-place schedule and surrendering the ability to sneak up on people as they did last year, problem number-one is their brittle offensive line, further decimated by the loss of Kyle Long.

An offensive line is the core of any team's offense. When they're stout and impenetrable, they make a quarterback look like Brett Farve and a running back resemble Barry Sanders. 

Quarterbacks have time to survey the field and decide on the best option for a pass. Running backs have wide open lanes enabling them to break off five, six yards at a crack. After three quarters of this, an opponent's defensive line shows signs of fatigue.

A great offensive line provides options. Got a lead you want to protect or an opposing offense you want to keep off the field? Go ahead. Run that ball. Need to strike fast and reclaim the lead late? Done.

Sadly, the Bears don't have either of these options. The proof is in the fact they're among the league leaders in three-and-outs. They can't sustain their running game or their passing game.

However talented the Bears defense is, they're on the field for more snaps than three-quarters of their NFL colleagues. As a consequence, they tire and give up points. And if there's a team in the NFL that can't afford to fall behind, its the 2019 Chicago Bears.

Once again, the Bears can't run and they can't pass, largely because of their deficient O-line. Mitch Trubisky's development has been further retarded by this line, leading to a torrent of bitter and hostile criticism.

And lacking draft capital, April won't be an answer any time soon.

But you'd never know it reading recent dispatches in the Tribune. Nope. The Bears have rediscovered their mojo. They have their groove back. Fire up Club Dub. All of this after beating the New York Giants and Detroit Lions.

Whew. It's a little much.

The Bears face the distracted Dallas Cowboys tonight, a team with serious internal issues. They could conceivably get lucky and catch the Cowboys by surprise, giving them a 7 – 6 record and sending the Bears' public relations staff at the Tribune into overdrive.

But with remaining games against the Green Bay Packers, Kansas City Chiefs and Minnesota Vikings (the first and last on the road), things don't look so good. Not with a tough schedule and a weak line and no obvious solutions on the horizon.

Like their 2007 counterparts, the 2019 Bears are the morning after a celebration. And there's no hiding the fact these Bears don't look so good in the light of day.

It'll be curious to see when the Tribune acknowledges it.

Pouting Your Way to the Top

I'm going to re-imagine my work-life in the context of professional football player Antonio Brown's career.

Upon graduation, I am offered employment with employer A. I work hard and establish myself as a leader in my field.

By my third year with the company, I begin to exhibit an exaggerated sense of my importance. In a dispute over office supplies, I yell “Don't you know who I am? I don't need office supply requisitions! I am this company!”

Prior to the office Christmas party, I taunt visiting sales reps from another company and am forbidden from attending the year-end gala.

As my status within the company grows, I begin to flaunt my position by regularly showing up late for meetings, seminars, and the like--if I show up at all. I dare my superiors to call me on it.

Near the end of my seventh year with the company, I feel unappreciated. 

I act out. In defiance of established business protocol, I belch loudly at a business dinner where we are in the midst of sensitive negotiations with a new client.

After being reprimanded privately by my boss following the dinner, I post our meeting on You Tube. He is heard complaining about our new client and the deal falls apart. He is then made to apologize by our company's CEO.

One month later, I am made the highest-paid person ever with my job title.

But I still feel unappreciated. Everyone doesn't love me. The company doesn't act on my suggestions. One particular co-worker calls me out on my deficiencies—as if I had any. Did I mention I feel unappreciated?

This mounting disrespect eats away at me until I confront the brazen co-worker. His superiors feel I am out of line and want me punished. I take the next several days off.

When I return, I am told I have been suspended.

I take to my Linkedin account and announce that my time with employer A has clearly come to an end. I wait for competing offers to roll in.

While the industry-leaders I crave are mostly silent, an offer from an older firm in the midst of a rebuild intrigues me. But I need to know they are committed to my success, first.

Everything is going swimmingly until I am told I need to forego my beloved BlackBerry, per company policy. I refuse. I try repeatedly to sneak it into meetings, only to be caught and reprimanded in a series of escalating meetings.

I contact a a tech-wizard who retrofits my BlackBerry's circuitry into a shell made by my new employer's approved manufacturer. It doesn't work. I storm out of the building, outraged. Who were they to say what kind of phone I could—and couldn't—use?

I need to get out of town and think. Employer B is cramping my style. How did they think I would function without my phone? It's like chopping off the hands of a concert pianist and telling him to perform with someone else's.

I take a few months and clear my head in Tahiti.

During a scuba-diving trip, I am bitten on the hand by a gold-crowned Antfish. It doesn't bother me until I return to the elevation at which employer B's headquarters rests. My hand soon begins to throb uncontrollably, causing severe, debilitating pain.

It makes using a phone—Blackberry or not—impossible.

Even after doctors stabilize the hand, the issue of my phone remains. Employer B is increasingly concerned whether I will ever work for them.

Just as I am beginning to reconcile myself to the idea of working for them, my CEO goes all hard ass on me. He issues an emergency performance review that threatens not only my employment with the company, but reveals several financial penalties that would kick-in if I don't begin work immediately.

I post his threatening review on Linkedin for all the world to see. What's more, I also threaten to knock the crap out of him. Who does he think he's screwing with, anyway?

He threatens to fire me. By this point, I couldn't care less. This is clearly a backwards organization that prizes unthinking obedience over enlightened individualism. I certainly don't need them as much as they need me.

I prepare to take my lumps and am in the midst of updating my resume when the phone rings. It is my department manager.

“Listen, bro. Can't we just sweep all this shit aside and just go to work? I don't even know what the fuck's happening, man. I just want to get down to business.”

His naked, heartfelt appeal catches me off-guard. “That's all I ever wanted” I sob into the phone.

A hasty reunion is arranged and I report to work. I issue a tear-stained apology to my co-workers for my disruptive behavior.

But afterwards, I become aware that nothing has really changed. This is still a second-rate outfit that won't let me use my BlackBerry.

I post my letter of resignation on FaceBook. I am done.

Then I get a job offer from Final Solutions, the industry-leader I should have been with from the start.

There's a lesson here somewhere. I'm just not sure it's one anyone should learn.